


this evening has been so very nice

by elizaham8957



Series: Twelve Days of Stydia Christmas 2017 [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Canon Divergent, Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Future, Post Series, SO FLUFFY, also is there a plot? debatable, everything is exactly the same except Allison is alive, pack family feels, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 10:27:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13121829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaham8957/pseuds/elizaham8957
Summary: The house was an absolute mess.Allison guessed she should have expected that— this did happen every year. These parties had started back in high school as lowkey hangouts in Scott’s basement with cheap alcohol and way too many Christmas movies, and had slowly, over the course of many years, morphed into what the pack now dubbed the “Super Festive Cheer Filled Annual McCall-Argent Holiday Party Extravaganza.” (Allison was about eighty percent sure Stiles had come up with the name while he was very drunk on said cheap alcohol. She didn’t know how on earth he had remembered it for the next year.)





	this evening has been so very nice

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this one is being posted at LITERALLY the last possible minute. So. Sorry about that. Blame the family Christmas party.
> 
> This prompt was from my sister (@magicath17) and was EXTREMELY detailed, so I think she honestly deserves a writing credit here. And because it's from her, this is the "Everything is exactly the same except Allison lives au." There is just... so much fluff.
> 
> Title is from Baby It's Cold Outside. Enjoy!

The house was an absolute mess.

Allison guessed she should have expected that— this did happen every year. These parties had started back in high school as lowkey hangouts in Scott’s basement with cheap alcohol and way too many Christmas movies, and had slowly, over the course of many years, morphed into what the pack now dubbed the “Super Festive Cheer Filled Annual McCall-Argent Holiday Party Extravaganza.” (Allison was about eighty percent sure Stiles had come up with the name while he was very drunk on said cheap alcohol. She didn’t know how on earth he had remembered it for the next year.) 

She and Scott had spent  _ days  _ preparing— the entire apartment had been decorated to the nines, a Christmas tree sparkling in the corner, lights hung in the windows, wreaths and garlands everywhere, Nutcrackers and glittery reindeer statues and bowls of decorative ornaments covering end tables and countertops. As soon as she and Scott had moved in together, about halfway through college, their amount of Christmas decorations had gone up  _ substantially _ — only in part due to the fact that Lydia would not allow Stiles to cover literally every inch of their apartment in Christmas decorations, as she insisted they remain some semblance of their usual tasteful decor, and Scott was way too nice to say no to his best friend’s overflow decorations. Any surface not covered in decorations was taken up by food, all painstakingly homemade and color-coordinated to the holiday season, complete with festive name tags bearing punny Christmas names. The only thing  _ not  _ made from scratch by someone in the pack was the  _ inordinate  _ amount of Snowflake slice ‘n bake cookies, because, as Malia said, those could not be replicated by human hands. She and Scott had spent hours making everything from appetizers to snack foods to desserts— everything was game as long as it was unhealthy. There was one time of year to truly indulge on teeth-rotting, artery-clogging food, and it was most definitely Christmas time. 

Carefully, Allison navigated out of the living room, careful not to wake her sleeping friends, stepping gingerly over Kira’s arm, sprawled out across the floor. The kitchen was just as bad as the living room— the remnants from the gingerbread house making competition still covered the island, Stiles and Lydia’s winning house standing proud in the midst of the mess. They took the competition  _ much  _ more seriously than everyone else, although Lydia spent about half their decorating time convincing Stiles that they were  _ not  _ making a Star Wars themed gingerbread house. Her best friend’s arguments had only proved halfway effective this year, clearly, as Allison could see gingerbread men that Stiles had clearly tried to decorate as Stormtroopers and Darth Vader lined up against the side of the house below Lydia’s beautifully piped frosting icicles. Allison and Scott’s house was  _ not  _ as well put together— they went for a more modern art approach than the traditional gingerbread house route after Scott had accidentally knocked the roof and shattered it into too many pieces for them to feasibly repair. Stiles had laughed, saying that for a vet and an archer, they should have  _ way  _ steadier hands, because something on their house broke every single year  _ without fail.  _ Kira and Malia’s house was barely decorated, as they had thrown in the towel early, instead deciding to eat their allotted decorating candy and squirt frosting at each other. 

Allison was partially convinced that was the reason poor Kira had thrown up at two in the morning. Someone always got sick every year, and while no one was ever sure if it was alcohol related or sugar related, Allison was willing to put money on the latter this year. 

Allison looked up at the sound of bells, eyes landing on Stiles and Lydia’s dog, his tail wagging excitedly at seeing someone else was finally awake. Slowly, Finn padded over to Allison, nudging at her knee with his head, his tongue lolling out in a way that made it look like he was smiling at her. 

“Hey, buddy,” Allison whispered, crouching down to scratch his head. He nuzzled into her arms, licking her cheek sloppily, the bells on his collar still jingling. It was a long established rule that no one was allowed into the party without an ugly Christmas sweater, no shoes, festive socks, and some sort of other holiday accessory. Stiles and Lydia had initially thought that a collar with bells would be  _ adorable  _ for Finn to wear, but everyone had quickly seen the flaw in this plan when the dog constantly jingled like one of Santa’s reindeer. 

Finn whined, clearly hungry for breakfast, as his humans were asleep and unable to feed him at the moment. Allison’s eyes skimmed the apartment, looking for Lydia’s purse amidst the decorations and abandoned food and wrapping paper, knowing that Lydia had at least three different pre-portioned bags of dog food in there for Finn’s meals. 

She finally located her best friend’s purse in a pile under their discarded coats by the front door— last night, after everyone had had at  _ least  _ two glasses of Allison’s famous mystery spiked cider (the mystery being how it somehow got both the humans  _ and  _ werewolves drunk), the group had decided that going caroling in the neighborhood was a  _ fantastic  _ idea. They’d gotten to the first house on the street and promptly realized they had no idea what to sing, somehow ending up with a heavily altered version of the Twelve Days of Christmas. Allison was pretty sure that Isaac had somehow made it about werewolves, and that Malia had eagerly followed along with his new lyrics, until their song was a mash-up of Christmas traditions and supernatural lore. 

The horrified looks on the faces of the people who had answered the door had been enough to convince everyone to quit while they still had  _ some  _ of their dignity. 

Finn munched on his breakfast contently while Allison surveyed the living room, waiting for her coffee to brew, not even wanting to think about how long it would take to clean up. There were presents scattered everywhere from the Yankee Swap, wrapping paper strewn in between her sleeping friends. Their gift exchange was always memorable— a few years ago, someone had ended up with an entire set of antique dolls, while last year there was almost a full on  _ brawl  _ over a pair of concert tickets Isaac had gifted— but this year had been even crazier than most. Malia had somehow gotten it into her head that Finn should be participating in the Yankee Swap (“He’s practically your kid!” Malia had defended, gesturing emphatically to Stiles and Lydia. “One day when you  _ actually  _ have children, they’re going to have to participate, right? So why shouldn’t Finn be in it?” 

“Because he’s an  _ animal,  _ Malia,” Isaac had insisted, shooting her a look. Stiles and Lydia were distracted, staring into each other’s eyes in that soft, secretive way they did  _ all the time,  _ hung up on Malia’s mention of their future children.

“Half of us turn into animals,” Malia had said, taking another sip of her punch. No one was actually sure if she was this passionate about his participation while sober.  “He’s participating.” And that had been that.)

Regardless, Finn was a dog, not a werecoyote, and he therefore could not  _ actually  _ participate in the Yankee Swap. Stiles stepped in to choose his present for him, which had launched an entire debate over Stiles’s advantage in the present exchange, because he had two numbers instead of one. Lydia had quickly put an end to that when the debate had threatened to turn into an all-out fight— Liam was  _ very  _ passionate about Yankee Swaps, apparently— and had given Stiles the number 2 she had drawn in punishment. Stiles was physically incapable of staying mad at Lydia, though, so he had just let her curl into his side, Finn sprawled across both their laps as everyone opened presents. Allison was pretty sure that Stiles had ended up with Scott’s gift anyways— her boyfriend  _ always  _ bought something that was sweet and actually nice to have, something everyone else never failed to tease him for. 

In the living room, Stiles yawned hugely on the couch, blinking sleepily as he began to wake up. The TV was still playing the 25 Days of Christmas movies they’d started late last night— every year, everyone insisted they would be able to make it through all of them, and every year, without fail, everyone fell asleep approximately ten minutes into the second movie. There had been way too many sleeping bodies between where Allison had been curled up with Scott in their big reclining armchair and the television, so she’d just left them on this morning when she’d woken up. 

Stiles gingerly sat up, carefully moving Lydia’s body off of his, trying not to wake his girlfriend. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple before maneuvering through the rest of their sleeping friends, sprawled out on the living room floor. 

“Good morning,” Allison greeted him as he stepped into the kitchen, still blinking sleepily, running a hand through his very ruffled hair. “Coffee?” 

“God, yes,” Stiles said, nodding emphatically. Allison smirked, grabbing another mug and filling it for him. Stiles opened the fridge to get out the milk and sugar, adding a much smaller amount of sweetener than usual to his coffee.

“I don’t think I can ever look at sugar again,” he said in explanation, stirring his coffee before taking a sip. 

Allison laughed. “You say that every year.” 

More of their friends began to wake, trickling into the kitchen and pouring themselves cups of coffee as well. Lydia padded right up to Stiles, tucking herself into his side as she sipped from her mug of black coffee, Stiles absentmindedly playing with one of her stray curls, twisting it around his fingers. She grinned at him softly, tugging at the hem of her pajama top— every year Scott got them all matching sets of Christmas pajamas, and no one was allowed into the movie portion of the party without putting on the pajamas first. Lydia had stopped trying to resist  _ years  _ ago. 

“I’m starving,” Isaac announced as he walked into the kitchen, his coppery curls an absolute mess. Liam followed behind him, nodding in agreement.

“Are there waffles?” Liam asked, stretching his arms over his head. “I could go for waffles.” 

“You’re the beta, Liam, you make them,” Stiles said, one arm still around Lydia. Liam looked outraged, but Scott laughed, nodding in agreement. 

“C’mon, I’ll make waffles,” Scott offered. “You get me all the ingredients.” 

“I’ll help make them too,” Kira offered, her smile not at all reflective of the awful hangover they all collectively had. 

Allison and Malia doled out waffles on paper plates to everyone as Scott and Kira pulled them off the waffle iron, the entire pack migrating to the living room floor to eat breakfast. The 25 Days of Christmas movies were still playing on the TV— they were probably on movie number 7 or so at this point. No one really made it home until late in the afternoon; the pack would spend the rest of the day sprawled across the couches, munching on leftover food while the TV played in the background, just enjoying  _ being  _ together. The Christmas music playlist that Scott and Allison had carefully constructed was playing in the kitchen still, the holiday music softly echoing through the emptying room. 

“Okay,” Stiles said, handing Lydia a plate of waffles, waiting to take the next one for himself. “This is  _ definitely  _ the eighth time I’ve heard ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You.’ There is  _ no way  _ that this song isn’t on here multiple times.” 

“I swear, Stiles, there are no repeats on the playlist,” Scott insisted, handing Stiles another plate of waffles. 

“That is a  _ blatant lie,”  _ Stiles muttered, taking his plate and moving into the living room. Lydia lingered behind, leaning into Allison, who was still waiting on her breakfast.

“Thank you guys for doing this, again,” Lydia said, nudging her best friend with her shoulder. “This was great.” 

“Of course,” Allison responded. “It  _ is  _ tradition.” 

Lydia laughed. “Did you get your picture?” 

Allison nodded, smiling. She was always the last person to fall asleep, somehow, once the movie marathon portion of the night began. Every year she tried to take a nice picture of everyone, before they were all drunk and full of sugar, and every year she failed. Instead, she settled for a picture of the entire pack, sprawled across her and Scott’s living room, dead asleep while Christmas movies played in the background. She had an album she kept with the photos from every single year— partially for sentimental reasons and partially for blackmail purposes. 

“Yeah, I did,” Allison told her, turning to meet Lydia’s eye. “One of these days, I’ll actually get a nice picture.” 

Lydia laughed, nodding as well. “Yeah. One day.” She pulled away from Allison, joining her boyfriend in the living room, Stiles’s arm automatically sliding around her. 

Allison surveyed the living room, all of her friends sitting on the floor in their ridiculous matching pajamas, eating waffles as they watched more Christmas movies. Her heart sped up, feeling full and warm at the sight of her  _ pack,  _ her family that she had found all on her own. 

“Hey,” Scott said, coming up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “We did it.” 

“Yeah,” Allison agreed, turning to press a quick kiss to his jaw. “Another successful party.” 

He nodded, smiling at her. “Merry Christmas, Allison,” he told her, tightening his arms around her, and Allison’s heart thumped, warm and happy and full.

“Merry Christmas.” 


End file.
